Broken Flowers
by Roony
Summary: Lisa is getting flowers once a month, but she doesn't know why or from whom. That is, until she starts to realize what the flowers mean. JL...sort of
1. Delivery

**Broken Flowers**

by: Roony

rating: PG-13

disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye. Wes Craven owns Red Eye. I am not Wes Craven. I am prettier than Wes Craven. It is that simple.

And yes, I know I stole the title from the Bill Murray flick. I don't care. it's a good title.

A/N: YES! I finally get to post a Red Eye fic! I am so psyched that Red Eye got its own section! w00t!

I guess this is meant to be a mystery fic. Fans of LisaxJackson may enjoy this when it's finished. This will be a maximum of five or six chapters long. This is meant to be a short story, but I don't want to post more than five pages or so per chapter. Reviews are welcome, positive or negative.

Part One-Delivery 

They started in March.

It was the slow season; not that many people staying at the Lux Atlantic and they wouldn't be until about two more weeks when spring break rolled around, the busiest time all year. She'd let herself sleep in a little for that reason. Hell, she was the manager. She was allowed to do that now and then. It was almost laughable to believe that that spontaneous, 'who cares?' thought would ever cross the mind of the Lisa Reisert of two years ago.

When she did finally come in, only about a hundred or so people were housed that day. There had been no incidents, such as an argument over the 'no pets' policy or a reservation being lost, or even a suite blowing up. No, everything was very calm and easy.

She got home around seven, parking her red Honda Civic out on the street. She got up, walked up the stone path across the yard to her house-and almost would've stepped on something on her front door step if the porch light hadn't been on.

She paused and stared at it, like she'd never seen anything like it before: a bundle of pink carnations, wrapped in white tissue paper that was held fast with a green ribbon. Lisa smiled a little. She quietly hoped that they were from some secret admirer-but deep down she knew they were probably something her dad had left her. A 'just because' type thing. He did that a lot, and had been especially doting towards her since…

No, let's not think about that right now. It's been a good day.

She wasn't in denial about what had happened on flight 1019, not like she had been about…about the rape. The trial and media coverage had kept her from that. But so had the inner strength that had begun to blossom within her.

Without another thought, she gently picked up the bundle of carnations. She held them carefully upright as she unlocked the door and went in. She lifted them towards her nose. They smelled wonderful. Judging by the careful arranging to make sure all the flowers fit together, not a loose one in the whole bunch, and the wrapping, Lisa supposed that they'd been ordered from a florist shop or something. But to her disappointment, as she set her keys down and inspected the bunch, there was no card.

She sighed. Maybe it was Daddy. She'd have to call him up and thank him.

She set her purse down on the hall table and decided to hurry and put the flowers in a vase. She frowned at the thought. A vase… She had some flowers pots that were used up with some African violets, crocuses, and another with chrysanthemums. But she didn't remember right away where she'd put her vases. She _did _have them, she knew that much. The problem was location.

Suddenly, the mental light bulb went on. She hurried over into the next room on her left, the dining room. The walls had a mint green wallpapers printed with print flower blossoms. There was a long dining table in the center of the room with a white tablecloth on top. The room wasn't used often, as Lisa didn't have large groups of people over that much, not even family, especially since her parents' divorce, and now her entire mother's side living in Texas.

She set the flowers down on top of a wooden cabinet, which she knelt before. There were doors; Lisa tried the one in the middle and was rewarded. There were roughly fives vases: one inherited from Grandma Henrietta, two from Mom, one from Aunt Shelly(her mother's side), and she didn't remember where the last one had come from. At random, Lisa chose the blue ceramic one from Mom. Lisa stood up and set it on top of the cabinet next to the flowers.

She gently undid the loose knot of the green ribbon and unwrapped the tissue paper. She grabbed the flowers, trying to grasp the full bunch in one hand without snapping any of the stems. Then she placed them in the vase. They fit just fit and the pink really went well with the shade of blue.

Later, after she'd ran the vase under the faucet, filling it with a fair amount of water, and placing it on the counter where the flowers would get a fine share of sunlight, Lisa called her dad.

He answered in his gruff, Southern accented voice: "Hello?"

Despite her father's accent and her mother's Texan drawl, Lisa hadn't gotten any accent, growing up in Florida, the most un-Southern state south of the Mason-Dixon.

"Hey, Dad, it's me," she said gladly.

"Oh, hi, Lisa!" he greeted, matching her tone, "How's my sweetie doing?"

"Oh, just fine," she replied.

"So, just calling to chat?" he supposed.

Back at his house, only a few miles away, Joe Reisert was lounging on his favorite chair. On the table beside him was a bowl of pretzels and in his free hand was the remote. The TV was on mute. He loved her more than the sun, but Joe was silently grateful that his daughter had called during the commercial. It was the Dolphins against the Steelers.

"Well, yeah, but I also wanted to thank you," Lisa replied casually.

Joe's brow furrowed a little in confusion.

"For what, honey?"

Now Lisa's brow furrowed.

"For the flowers…" she explained, a little bit of uncertainty in her tone.

Joe now frowned and looked sideways at the phone, as though it were Lisa.

"Flowers?"

That tone in her father's voice told Lisa immediately that her father hadn't sent the flowers. Now the red flag came up. But she didn't want him to worry.

"Oh, uh, sorry," she said quickly, trying to sound cheerful again, "I didn't look at the card. It's from Paul."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Lisa felt sickeningly guilty. She never lied to her father. But if he got too concerned about her, his heart might act up. Being in retirement without the responsibilities of a job, Dad had spent one too many days and nights sitting around watching TV and eating pretzels, Cheetos, and so on.

But nonetheless, her father's concerned voice came over, "Paul? Who's Paul?"

Oops. Lisa had just thrown out the name on a whim.

"Oh, um, he's from work…"

But she knew she'd made a mistake. Now her dad would-

"Are you seeing him?" he asked briskly, bluntly.

She sighed into the phone. "Dad, he's just a friend."

"Who sends flowers?"

Lisa wondered how she was going to get her self out of _this_ one. She'd been terrorized by an assassin for a few hours and driven an SUV into his front door, but he acted a thousand more times concerned over some guy.

"Um, you know, I have to go Dad, I, uh, need to do some laundry."

Back at his house, Joe opened his mouth to protest, but then he saw that the game was back on.

"Well…all right," he said, defeated, quickly adding, "But we'll talk about this _Paul_ later."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Right, of course, Dad."

She heard his quick 'Bye' and said hers, then hung up.

Dad hadn't sent the flowers.

Who had?

And her immediate reaction was expected. Jackson Rippner flashed into her head. For a minute all real thought stopped and she had a quick memory flash of her history with him: the plane, the attack at the house, the trial… The trial had been difficult. She was the best evidence the prosecution had. Her testimony had been all that tied the Keefe's room blowing up and the man at her house to Jackson. Otherwise, no physical evidence linked him to anything, save his attempted murder of her.

But her fear was replaced by rational thought. Jackson couldn't possibly have sent her the flowers. He had restricted communications and was specifically banned from ANY communications towards Lisa Reisert, her hotel, her father, and a few others. That last part had been added as a 'thank you' from Keefe. While he himself didn't technically have the power to impose such a thing, he had considerable influence on those that did. And so, Lisa decided that Jackson _might_ not have sent them. Visiting the florist company the flowers had come from would be a little more reassuring.

And then a sudden, panic of a thought: what if there was something _wrong _with the flowers? Like a biological weapon of anthrax or a poison? Granted, Lisa admitted these were unlikely possibilities. But wasn't it also unlikely for her to be seated on a plane next to an assassin who wanted her to change someone's room so that person could be killed by a missile launched from a yacht?

Lisa stared accusingly at the carnations. They faced back at her innocently.

Lisa walked quickly back into the dining room where she'd left the wrapping paper. If something was on the flowers, it would've had to have gotten on the tissue paper.

She walked over to the cabinet and looked at the paper lying on top. She carefully spread it out, exposing all of the paper that had touched the flowers. She had brought a magnifying glass from her desk drawer. She bent down with it, examining every inch of the paper. At first she saw nothing, no odd powders, no oils or other liquids soaked into the paper. But then her heart sank as she spotted a dark spot. But she looked closer… No, wait, it was on the other side. They were words, stamped in bold, curly letters.

Lisa flipped the paper over, reading the green stamp: 'Floridian Florists' and in smaller letters underneath: 'Flower Arrangements and Deliveries'. Lisa felt relieved. There was nothing wrong with the flowers. They'd been delivered by a real florist company, who was probably not in the habit of poisoning their bouquets.

Well, that took care of that problem, but the mystery still remained: who had sent the flowers?

Lisa checked the wrappings again, but this time she wasn't rewarded. No phone number or address. Oh well, she'd check the yellow pages for them later. Then she'd ask for the sender. It was that simple.

Or was meant to be.


	2. Accusation

Disclaimer-I want to note something-I wrote this story prior to posting it up. Some elements of my story are in other fics of Red Eye. If you think I'm copying these people, plagiarizing them somehow, I'm not. I'll just be blunt: this is coincidence. That's the best defense I've got. If you don't believe me, fine, go read something else, or better yet, read one of my other fics to see if I've ripped anybody else off. I'm trying to be original here. This is what the Muses delivered to me.

Thank you

AN:this chapter was meant to be longer…but I think six pages is enough, right? So…I'll put up the rest of this acene in Part Three.

oh, and guys-a beta reader would be super, so if anyone would like to for me, I'd be grateful. Free Tex Mex….

* * *

Part Two- Accusation

The next day, rather than repeating the little rebellion she'd committed to the day before, Lisa was in work on time. She didn't have enough time in the morning to check for Floridian Florists in the yellow pages, but she was sure the Lux had a book somewhere, so she could take care of it during her break.

Though her greatest fears had been calmed, Lisa was still uneasy. A secret admirer is one thing, but where that stops and stalker begins, Lisa didn't know. She supposed that to some people, that would seem paranoid. She should be thankful for the flowers, not freaking out. But Lisa had had two horrible experiences already, and she didn't want to strike out with three. And naturally, Jackson was lurking in the back of her head too, those arrogant eyes flashing out of the shadows of her mind.

Again, the day was rather normal. The first big incident of the day was that the continental breakfast ran out of jelly doughnuts. This was soon followed by the second big incident of the day, a six year-old boy eating too many of said jelly doughnuts and puking onto the breakfast room floor. Actually, the latter problem solved the former because after that the other present guests weren't very concerned about their food, or lack thereof.

Roughly twenty minutes after the boy had began 'redecorating' the breakfast room floor, Lisa was briefing Cynthia in the lobby.

"Okay, now, most of the guests had eaten around eight, so the, uh, exposure was minimal," Lisa said in her quick-business-like tone that she slipped into when she was in manager mode.

Cynthia swallowed a little. _This was so gross_. "Uh, that's good…"

"If they complain, tell them to fill out a comment card." The Comment Card box had become Lisa's favorite re-direct, but only for guests whom she termed 'guests with too many "special" needs'. Little did Lisa know that that had made her Cynthia's hero all the more. "We can't do anything about things like this.

"And…" she checked the file in her hand, "The family is in room 2048. Check on them, make sure the boy's okay. We've got some Tums and stuff in the back room in the blue cabinet and they can get ginger ale at the vending machine by the indoor pool. If they want the boy to see a doctor, there's a medical center just about two miles away. You can give them these directions."

Cynthia took them.

"Oh, and they're the Riley's, the boy's name is Danny."

"2048, Rileys, Danny, ginger ale and Tums, go tit," Cynthia confirmed.

Lisa gave an approving nod. "Okay, now, we're really lucky that the breakfast room is tile, so it was easy to clean up. But, the smell might still be hanging around, politely suggest that people eat on the east side of the room."

Cynthia flinched a little. _Ew._ Never had she been so happy that she worked on the opposite side of the building from the breakfast room.

"Oh, and we'll need more jelly doughnuts for tomorrow."

Cynthia grimaced. "Right…"

Lisa was about to go, but she paused. "Hey, do you know if we've got a phone book here?"

Cynthia raised an eyebrow. "Uh…well, I guess we've got yellow pages."

"Where?"

"Uh…I think…yeah, I saw one under Tod's desk the other day."

Lisa raised an eyebrow. "Why is it under Tod's desk?"

Cynthia gave a shrug. "I guess he's hording it or something."

Lisa smirked. "I'll have to slip it away from him, convert-like."

Cynthia grinned. "Hmm… Good luck. I bet he's real protective of it." She paused. "Hey, why do you need it anyway?"

Lisa thought for a moment and decided to reply: "I'll tell you later, after work I guess. Why don't you go check on the Riley's, okay?"

Cynthia nodded. "Right, boss," she said, giving a small salute before heading for the elevator. Ugh, she hoped the kid wasn't still puking.

About three hours later, Lisa had found the yellow pages book under Tod's desk. Tod, who was in the advertising department, wasn't around, she ended up not having to lower herself down from the ceiling on a wire to get the book.

She flipped around to the F's. Surprise, surprise, there were lots of Florida Florists, Florida Floral Arrangements, and so on. There were three Floridian Florists in the Miami area, and Lisa found. She also discovered that Floridian Florists was actually a chain that was spread throughout Florida, though she'd never heard of them before.

Lisa decided to just call each Floridian Florist in the order the yellow pages had placed them. The first was on Orange Groove Road, a road closer to the shopping district, and therefore Lisa could guess that this was the big Floridian Florist store of Miami.

Using her manager-code-of-ethics, Lisa chose to call on he cell phone, not the hotel's.

"Floridian Florists, how may I help you?" a masculine Southern-accented voice spieled.

"Hi," Lisa greeted cheerfully. She herself being one who had to greet people on a day-to-day basis giving the same pre-approved lines, Lisa wasn't uncomfortable when others spoke to her in the same way, a quality that many people don't carry, "You guys do flower deliveries, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," the man replied, "We deliver anywhere within the Miami area. If you want to have an arrangement delivered, you have to come into our store yourself, but if you only want a bunch of flowers, like roses, we can do that over the phone."

"Uh, well, I'm calling because I _received_ some flowers," Lisa explained.

There was a pause on the other end and Lisa was about to go on before he came back on: "Floridian Florists do offer refunds, ma'am, but only under special circumstances."

"Uh, no, no," Lisa said quickly, "I didn't pay for them. I just, uh, don't know who sent them to me."

"Oh." The clerk replied like this had happened before. He seemed a little embarrassed. "Yes, ma'am, we offer anonymous deliveries."

Lisa's stomach sank sickeningly. "Don't tell me you don't know who sent these."

"Well, uh…" The clerk faltered, but then caught himself. "Let's just make sure that _we_ sent you the flowers, ma'am. See, we've got three offices down in Miami right now. Just tell me your address and I'll see if you're in the computer."

Lisa paused nervously. She was calling to prevent a stalker, but she was about to hand over her address to a complete stranger? That didn't seem to make sense.

"Um…could I just give you my name? Would that be enough?" she asked carefully, trying to stay polite. That would work. It obviously wouldn't matter if her address was already in the computer, but if it wasn't, she wouldn't have given out too much information.

The man gave an irritated sigh. Lisa understood; it didn't feel good to be mistrusted.

He said curtly, "Names aren't always given for deliveries, ma'am. But I'll check."

"Thank you," Lisa said sincerely.

Lisa could here someticking sounds on the line, which she knew was the tapping of fingers on a keyboard.

"All right, what's your name?" the clerk asked tersely.

"Lisa Reisert," she replied.

There was a slight pause.

"Lisa Reisert?" the man asked back, and for once he actually sounded interested in what she had to say. But Lisa groaned inwardly.

She'd gotten some media attention from the incident a few years ago. Fortunately a lot of the attention had been focused on Keefe. However, thanks to Jackson's brilliant idea to keep someone hostage in front of all of Flight 1019, the 'incredible, inspiring story' had naturally been uncovered by the media eventually. While Jackson had gotten the spotlight, Lisa had been helplessly dragged along with him. She'd been pressured to retell the whole ordeal, and doing it willingly for the DA, the police, and her family had been hard enough. She'd been forced to take a month long vacation after the trial until everything had calmed down.

"Um, yes," she replied.

"The one from TV?" he asked.

Lisa mentally cursed. "Look, could you please just check to see if I'm in your computer or not?"

But the clerk ignored her. You could hear the smirk in his tone: "So that guy really threatened you the whole flight, in front of all those people?"

Lisa's temper was really starting to get the better of her. "Just check the computer, okay?"

"And he never even held a gun to you or nothin'?"

Lisa took a deep breath. "If you don't want to talk to me, sir, could you please put someone else on the phone so that I can find out who sent me the flowers?" she spoke as calmly as possible, in a rather phony voice.

Again, he ignored her. "You sure you didn't like the guy?" he remarked. "Hmmph. You know, I don't care what the lawyers and judge say, lady. I know you were really working with that guy."

Everything in Lisa went cold for a moment. Her eyes were wide and her joints were frozen in time. _Working with…?_

He was still talking snidely into the phone, "I know everybody else for got about it, I but I saw that stewardess on TV. Says she thought you two were a _couple_ or somethin'. Even says she saw the two of you go into the john together? I wasn't aware that joining the mile high club was against the law, _Miss Reisert_."

That was it. Lisa hit the 'end' button with a short cry of frustration and anger. She was shaking with anger. She'd never felt this way before, never felt so much ferocity and known that there was nothing she could do about it.

God, how could anyone think those things? Working with Jackson? Was this guy just one nutcase or did people really think that she…that she had tried to murder the Keefes along with Jackson?

And the mere _entertainment _of the thought that she and Jackson had…had taken part in _any_ form of intimacy just made her want to vomit up jelly doughnuts like little Danny Riley.


	3. Memories

A/N-okay, I didn't memorize the whole bathroom scene. When you see '…' that means we're skipping parts of the scene. I figure that Lisa herself wouldn't remember the whole thing herself anyway, at least not at a slow enough pace to reflect on all of it. I also kept the dialogue in the flashback down to a minimum. It didn't seem necessary to add, and at the time, I doubt that Lisa was focusing on what Jackson was saying as opposed to doing.

and… THANK YOU REVIEWERS! I've never had some much interest in one of my stories before! I'm psyched! I hope I can keep this good for all of you. If not, please don't hunt me down with torches and pitchforks…

* * *

Part Three-Memories

_She opens the door. She thinks she's safe, that she'll make it. But he's there. Shock and terror grip her and she can't move, can't shut the door._

_The mask from the airport in Texas is back on. He starts jokingly, "I was beginning to think that…"_

_It takes him roughly three seconds to observe, access, and finally react. He grabs her and shoves her back into the bathroom. She hears him click the lock. She's trapped. _

_'Again, Again,' the quiet panic begins in the back of her head, 'It's happening again…'_

_But her strength holds the memories back. She's still terrified, but from what's happening now, not what happened before…_

_…He's pushed her up against the other wall. Close. Too close. He's pressed up against her and she feels like she can't breathe. She can feel his breath on her face. _

_'It's just like last time, just like before…' the voice starts up again, wailing a little louder._

_Tears are welling up behind her eyes again and she hates herself for it. She's cried too much in front of this man already and she's tired of it._

_He threatens her father again, and he sounds exactly like he's giving her genuine advice, like he really wants to help her get out of this. But to _her _ears, the words are all that matter. She doesn't want to listen to him, but she can't risk not doing so. But her mind's busy, fighting to stay calm, which today means 'alive'…_

_…and then he finds the scar._

_"Did someone do this to you?"_

_And then…_

She shook her head. She can't do this, not now, not here. She's letting him win. She's letting all of them win. But…

"…thought you two were a _couple_ or somethin'…"

She knows that the memories won't stop and before she plunges headfirst into the past, it occurs to her how weird it is to have a flashback within a flashback.

_"Did someone do this to you?"_

_Helped by the fact that she was already reminded back at the airport when she changed clothes, the flashes return. But they're jumbled and in fast-forward._

_The mall parking lot. Hot and bright out._

_Grab from behind. Turn to see a familiar face shrouded in silhouette._

_Air reeks of grease and mold and rot. Ground is rough and scratching her back bloody._

_Blinded from the glint of the bright sun on the knife._

_Pain, pain, pain… It's everywhere, all over…_

_But she knows that's in the past. And she knows that she doesn't want this new source of pain to know about the other._

_So she lies and he knows that she does. _

_So he lifts her off her feet, hand around her throat. White spots explode in her vision. She's struggling to breathe and knows that she's failing._

But no, she can breathe just fine. She's not in the bathroom of flight 1019. She's not in the hot mall parking lot. She's safe, in an office at the Lux Atlantic.

But it's too much. The feelings and memories are too great and she can't keep them in anymore. She is stronger, she is so much stronger than she was. But even the strong can break now and then.

Lisa sat down in the nearest chair-Tod's, leaned on the desk with her head in her hands, and wept. She sobbed and cried, letting all of it out. She was alone for about ten minutes, crying her worries and terrors and angers out of her system.

The door to her left opened unexpectedly, but she barely noticed it.

Cynthia poked her smiling head in, about to ask if Lisa had swiped the book from Tod with success. Cynthia's face falls when she comes upon the scene. At first, she's shocked and panics a little. here was Lisa, her hero and best friend, and she was a wreck, weeping on Tod's empty desk. But then Cynthia's good sense kicked in. She shut the door behind her, and went over t Lisa, putting a firm (albeit manicured) hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Oh, honey…" she said quietly, trying to be comforting. She doesn't have to ask right away what's wrong, because she can assume enough. Lisa was pretty bad a while ago, after the thing with Keefe and that bastard Rippner. She'd obviously gotten better and had evolved into her new and improved self, but Cynthia wasn't surprised. She understood that some wounds never heal all the way.

"Shh, it's okay Lisa. It's going to be fine…" she soothes for th enext five minutes, until Lisa finds that her tears have finally ceased.

She sits up and Cynthia goes over to the green files cabinet to get the tissue box on top of it. Lisa cleans herself up and Cynthia finally asks what's wrong. Then everything comes tumbling out, starting with the carnations from yesterday. Lisa leaves out everything involving her scar and the rape. Cynthia doesn't know about either.

"Oh, Lisa," Cynthia said sympathetically, "Oh, you poor thing…" She adds with uncharacteristic viciousness, "That flower bastard… What kind of sicko would think of you like that?"

Lisa sighed heavily. Per usual, her want to please everyone and never ending empathy tells her the answer to Cynthia's question.

"Someone who can't know any better."

Cynthia paused. Lisa sounded so…defeated.

Lisa went on, "I mean…yeah, it's true. He never used any weapon on the plane. But…he didn't have to. I guess…O guess that would be hard to believe. And…and in the bathroom…"

She couldn't go on; her throat was tight and a new wave of tears was coming on. She shut her eyes to keep them away. She really did think for a minute that she was going to be sick.

Cynthia stroked Lisa's hair away form her face gently. "Oh, god… Oh, honey…"

And her friend's comfort helped give her strength. Her throat loosened and the tears went away. But Lisa still felt a little ill.

After a minute of silence, Cynthia said, "So, um, I guess you'll just go home. I'll cover for you…"

Lisa shook her head. "No. No, I'll be okay."

Cynthia looks at her with concerned skepticism.

"No, really," Lisa, assures, "It's just… Just been kind of bad lately, that's all."

Cynthia bit her lip. "Lisa, you don't have to stay…"

"Yes, I do," Lisa said with resolve, "I do, because… Because if I don't…" She gave a tight smile. "They'll win."

Lisa made it through the day without anymore breakdowns. Cynthia, ever the concerned friend, would check on her every few hours or so to make sure.

After work, just like nothing had ever happened this morning, they met up and went to The Blue Glass, the bar and grill a few blocks away. It wasn't run down and was populated by a good crowd, mostly the workers from all of the nearby hotels. Cynthia and Lisa had become regulars over the past few years.

Cynthia had a margarita, Lisa had a cosmo. Though she didn't like to admit it, Lisa thought that the cosmo seemed a little to exotic for her. But she had decided a while ago that it was better to not be so predictable.

Though Lisa very collected, Cynthia was still a little frantic about what had happened in the morning and what Lisa had told her.

"So, you really think that freak sent you the flowers?" Cynthia asked in a hushed but high-pitched voice.

Lisa sipped her cosmo before replying, "Well, I don't know for sure. He's on restrictions. He isn't allowed to contact anyone except his lawyer by mail, and all of the letters have to be approved before they're sent out."

Cynthia gave a tentative nod. "Okay… Well, that's good."

"Still, I'd like to know who's sending them," Lisa said, "I want to be sure, you know?"

Cynthia nodded approvingly. "Oh yeah, absolutely."

Lisa gave a small smile. "It's funny…"

Cynthia looked up. "What?"

"When I…when I first saw them… They…they made me so happy. Just for a minute. I mean, no one's ever sent me flowers before." She paused and her eyes went to the floor. "It felt nice… You know, to have someone notice me for once."

Cynthia felt sympathetic, but she also felt a pang of guilt. She herself had had a steady boyfriend, Chris, for three years now.

She found it a little hard to believe that someone as pretty as Lisa didn't have a boyfriend, especially considering her young age. She really thought that Lisa got stuff like flowers all the time. But then she remembered how Lisa had been before. She'd been distant from everyone, even attractive guys who seemed a little interested. Actually, now that Cynthia thought about it, those were the people Lisa seemed to stay away from the most… But Cynthia decided not to dwell on things like that. Her friend needed her right now.

"So what're you gonna do?" she asked.

Lisa paused and thought. "Well, I was _going_ to call the florists and find out who was sending them, but…" She thought it better not to finish.

Cynthia frowned. "You should get that guy fired. Show up in person, talk manager-to-manager, stuff like that."

Lisa couldn't help but smile a little at the thought. "No, I don't want to cause trouble…"

Cynthia took a little more of her martini before replying, in atypical way: "Fuck it, just do it."

Lisa stared at Cynthia for a minute.

"What?"

"That was…uh…new."

Cynthia shrugged. "I cuss. Just not a lot."

Lisa smiled. "Okay, well, maybe I'll take your advice. But…first I'll call the other two stores first, just to check."

Cynthia gave a scowl. "Chicken."

Lisa decided that maybe Cynthia had had a little too much margarita for the night, but thought it better not to comment on it.

* * *

I've gotta say, this is really fun writing. Lisa's so great to write for. I don't like how a lot of people paint her as simply the damsel in distress. She's the heroine too, saving herself from her own fears and terrors.

Here's the fun part where I thank reviewers. w00t!

To everyone: This is incredible! I can't believe the response I'm getting! Thank you so much for all of your interest and support in this! I've never had more hits on a story before!

I'd to specifically comment to some of you. Please don't be offended if I don't put your name on here. I luv ya all the same. Have a Baybreeze, it'll help.

**Bimefl**-don't skip ahead of me! ;) hope that this story stays interesting for you!

**Redhoodedninja**-YES! No grammar mistakes! I'm very self-conscious about that. shrugs Hey, people around _here_ think Jackson and Lisa are a couple. Not that hard to believe if you think about it. As to what role will play in this… I've gotta keep a secret :P

**melodie**-well…she did kind of hang up on him, right? Also I was in the awkward position that she had a cell phone, done a corded phone, which is much better for 'hanging up' action.

**Jack E. Peace**-if you love my story, why don't you marry it? lol, sorry. Danny Riley invaded my body for a minute there. You really wanna be my beta reader? that'd be super. e-mail me (it's on my profile page)

**blackfpheonix**-well, I figured she was too shocked at the suggestion to hang up right away. And, like I told **melodie**, I was in the awkward position of a cellphone hang-up, which is very non-confrontational…

**thesupernugget**-yes. Doughnuts of the Damned, as I call them. Good questions…but sadly, you'll have to wait and read on for answers…

**trinity-matrix13**-yes, yes he was a jerk. I think we all know someone like that. …who's such a badass, he works in a flower shoppe...


	4. Ethics

I'm back! So sorry for the space between updates!

This is a bit shorter than normal-hope you guys don't mind.

Part Four: Ethics

The next morning, Lisa was heading to work and about to step out the door when her phone started to ring. She paused and looked back to the phone on the table in the hall behind her. It continued ringing, begging her to pick up. She checked her watch. She had to leave now, or she'd be late. And she'd already been late once this week… Without a second thought, she closed the door on the ringing phone.

* * *

Cynthia had called in sick. Lisa, remembering the number of margaritas her friend had downed the previous night, could guess what kind of 'illness' Cynthia had contracted.

The day went smoothly, with plenty of jelly doughnuts. The Rileys left around ten-skipping the Continental breakfast.

Again, the spring break crowds hadn't started filling in yet. Everyone in the hotel was grateful for the period of slowness before the big rush. Spring break was not only busy, but it was also the time of year when the people with the worst personality 'issues' came around. Typically, the Lux would be populated by a bunch of spoiled teenagers from up north who were screwing their parents out of hundreds of dollars on room service, expensive suites, and so on. But, it was all the better for the Lux. Spring break was their best business season.

On her break, Lisa decided to call 'Floridian Florists', though this time she'd be calling a different store. She really had considered Cynthia's advice (whether it was influenced by alcohol or not) but had decided not to make a big deal about what had happened.

So she called the next one, where she spoke to a very pleasant young man. This time, Lisa just gave her address. Despite the man's nice attitude, she didn't want a repeat of yesterday. It turned out that she wasn't on the list.

Lisa bit her lip as she dialed up the next store listed. If this wasn't the one, she'd have to call the first one back…

_Please…_

"Floridian Florists, Herald's Street branch," an elderly woman's husky voice greeted with professional friendliness.

"Hello, I received some flowers two days ago, and they were sent anonymously. I was wondering if you could tell me who sent them?" Lisa said, a bit of wariness in her voice. She did NOT want to call the other store.

"Could you please give me the address that they were sent to?" the woman asked, still keeping the same tone.

Lisa gave it.

There was a pause and some clicking of computer keys.

"Yes… Lisa Reissert?"

Lisa felt a little fear creep into her heart.

"Y-Yes…" she said hesitantly.

"Yes, we have you in our computer. You received pink carnations at four o'clock on Tuesday."

It wasn't really a question, but Lisa said 'yes' anyway. Lisa pondered about the time for a minute, and then realized that she hadn't been home all day anyway.

"Well, we don't have a name from the sender, but we do have a credit card number…"

* * *

Lisa couldn't help but feel wrong. And she knew that it was because she was _doing_ something wrong.

She was sitting in her car, sipping coffee, waiting outside the home of Timothy Berge. Timothy Berge was the name on the credit card, and only a few flips of pages in the phone book had led Lisa here, to the blue bungalow-style home where he lived. He lived in middle-class style. She didn't now what he did for a job, but she had already decided to find out. But first she'd wanted to see him.

Lisa didn't remember ever meeting anyone named Timothy Berge. But that didn't mean that they'd never met. He could've stayed at the Lux once or even multiple times. Actually, that wasn't a possibility anymore; Lisa had checked every file she could find from over the past seven years (since she'd started working at the hotel) and no one under the name Timothy Berge had been listed. She'd also checked employee records-Timothy Berge had never worked at the Lux either. But maybe he hung around the bar she and Cynthia went to after work, maybe he worked at one of the various stores she shopped at. As for how he knew where she lived, he could've just looked her up in the phone book like she had him.

She checked her watch. It was about six o'clock. She'd been waiting for an hour for him. She'd check out of a work early with a made up doctor's appointment.

Finally, a gray pickup truck came down the street and pulled into the gravel driveway. Lisa sat up and tensed herself. She was going to see him. Maybe she'd remember his face and know how he knew her.

He got out of the truck. He was white with brown hair that was cut close to his square head in a military-style cut. He was about average height. He had broad shoulders and he seemed like he had some muscles, like he'd played football for his high school and maybe in college. He looked to be in his early thirties, possibly late twenties. He was wearing a red plaid jacket that was loose around the collar, revealing a white T-shirt and jeans and brown work boots. He looked like he'd stepped out of a Men's Fashion magazine or something. And he wasn't bad looking…

Lisa shook the thought from her head. She didn't know this man. She didn't know anything about him accept for his address and that he'd sent her flowers.

As Lisa watched him, she felt fear and guilt begin to sink in. This was just what Jackson had done to her, wasn't it? Camp out and watch her to learn from her. She tried to tell herself that she was wrong, that what he and done and what she was doing were different because of their motives. But that was an excuse, and she knew it.

For a minute, she thought of leaving. Of just averting her eyes, starting up her car, and leaving.

"Get a grip," she told herself, "You can do this."

But as she watched Timothy Berge walk up to his house with a brown leather carrier bag, she was becoming more and more afraid of herself. They'd both done this. Not just Jackson… But before…

_She whirls around. The bright sun shades his face, but she recognizes the hair. She opens her mouth to speak, but he claps a rough hand over her lips. _

Lisa snapped back to the present. She's shaking and breathing too fast. She calms herself using the technique the therapist recommended (the therapist was the idea of her friends and family, but the therapist let her go after only a few months). Oh god, she can't do this. She's too close, too close to them.

It's only flowers. He hasn't done anything wrong. He didn't give a threatening note or anything. Just flowers, just flowers.

With newfound resolve, she starts up her car and drives home.

* * *

When she got home, her message machine was beeping. Lisa remembered the call from hours ago and quickly hurries over to the machine, knowing that the caller has been waiting all day for a response.

She hit the 'play' button.

The voice was a young woman's: "Hello, Lisa Reisert? This is Kylie Richards. I'm the manager at the Orange Groove branch of Floridian Florists. I would like to apologize for what was said to you yesterday when you called. I was nearby and I listened to the conversation. After Burt-that's the man with whom you spoke with-hung up, I confronted him. He's been fired. I can't tell you how sorry I am that this has happened, and now that Burt's been fired, it won't even happen again, should you want to use our store again. I was wondering if you could come by so that I could apologize to you in person."

As Lisa listened to the message, she felt a huge wave of relief and thankfulness wash over her. Despite what had happened just minutes before, she felt happier than she had in a long time.


End file.
